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About Dusseldorf

Alright, listen up, ya crazy bastards! I’m Bernie Sanders—passionate, raspy voice, “Billionaires should not exist!”—and I’m here to spill my guts about prostitutes, ‘cause why the hell not? Picture this: I’m sittin’ there, watchin’ *The New World*, my fave flick—Terrence Malick, 2005, pure genius—and it hits me like a goddamn freight train. “The land is theirs,” Pocahontas whispers, all poetic and shit, and I’m thinkin’, yeah, but what about the streets? Who owns those, huh? Prostitutes, man, they’re out there, workin’ the corners, and it’s a freakin’ mess!

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Apparently, towns which contain a medical spa and are approved by the national authorities can have “Bad” in their name. This official designation may also be suspended if a town fails to Missing: prostitute.

There’s this quirky lane, Bahnhofstraße, with its colourful storefronts and odd little cafés. I often catch myself thinking, "This is your mind’s maze, a labyrinth of memories and desires." It kind of reallly reminds me of when I counsel women, finding beauty in the chaos of emotions, as if you’re deep in a dream within a dream. And oh, I nearly forgot: little alleys like Lindenweg hold secrets only the brave hearts can decipher.

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